


No room in hell

by Tashilover



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: AU, Mild Gore, One-Shot, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 07:46:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/684538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tashilover/pseuds/Tashilover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are jobs that still need to be done.</p><p> </p><p>A zombie!AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	No room in hell

The last thing his mother said to him before he left was, "You're going to be killed!"

Not the greatest boost of encouragement, but Martin couldn't fault her. SR was one of the most dangerous jobs anyone could take and very little has anybody ever reached retirement.

Despite the high mortality rate, for Martin, there was no other choice.

The only problem now was proving he was worthy of such a job.

"I'm sorry, Martin," his instructor, Mr. Duncan, said sympathetically. "While your shooting skills are unmatched, your stealth is poor. Nobody wants to bring a noise maker into a red zone."

"Please," Martin begged. "I just need more practice. Is there someone who's willing to take me?"

Mr. Duncan sighed and considered this for a moment. "Well... there is one SR that might take you. I know the pilot and she does need an extra hand."

"Oh, thank you! Thank you!"

"Just promise me one thing, Martin... don't get killed."

 

 

 

According to the rumours, patient zero appeared somewhere in Canada. Others said it was South America, while fingers pointed to China. Either way, by the time people realised what was happening, it was too late.

People called it the Black Death; which was a terrible name for it because it made people think they were dealing with an advanced bubonic plague instead of a disease that turned people, living and dead, into homicidal cannibals. Within a few months the whole planet was infected, turning cities into mass graveyards.

Those who survived managed to form small towns, erecting fences and impenetrable barricades against the living dead. While the world outside decayed, these small towns bloomed and expanded, giving people hope that maybe, one day, humans will take back their planet.

Martin nervously shifted from foot to foot, trying his best to calm down. He didn't want to give his new boss the wrong impression of him. Nobody wants to take a nervous man into the field.

"Calm down," Martin whispered to himself. "Calm down, calm down, clam down, calm down..."

The front door to the MJN office flew opened. Martin twisted around, keeping his back straight, ready to greet his new team.

The first person to enter was a man, younger than himself, with a bow and quiver half-full with arrows draped around his shoulders. He was pulling off the leather glove around his right hand when he noticed Martin. "Oh, hello!" The man said cheerily. "You must be Martin! I'm Arthur!"

There was a splash of blood across Arthur's chest. Martin did his best to ignore it. "H-hi," Martin said back, shaking Arthur's hand. "Yes. Um, is Mrs. Knapp-Shappey around?"

"She and Douglas are coming in soon. They're just going over the cargo."

"Yes... good haul?"

"Oh, yes!" Arthur said as he pulled his quiver and bow over his head. "We got a few good copies of books. Some jewelry. A few- aw, no!"

Martin startled. "What, what?"

Arthur pointed to the blood stain on his chest. "I just washed this!"

As Arthur continued to bemoan about his shirt, the front door flung opened and entered two people. The first was Mrs. Knapp-Shappey, dressed in a comfortable pair of trousers, a loose blue shirt and a jacket. From underneath her coat, Martin caught sight of a gun holstered to her torso.

The second person, Martin assumed, was Douglas. An older man, dressed in jeans, boots and a long sleeve shirt. He didn't carry a gun, but attached to his hip was a large, well-used machete. Strapped around his thigh on the other side, was a small black pouch of some sort.

"No," Mrs. Knapp-Shappey was saying. "No more, Douglas! I am sick and tired of paying for your replacements!"

"I'm sorry, Carolyn," Douglas said without sounding sorry at all. "But it was either take down that ghoul or let him eat Arthur. And while letting him eat Arthur would have given me enough time to snatch up that bottle of whiskey, I'm sure you would have been greatly annoyed to learn your son was eaten."

"You have a machete! Use it!"

"I was fifty feet away, there was no way-"

"Um, excuse me..."

They both rounded on Martin and he nearly flinched back in fear. "I-I'm Martin Crieff. I have... an appointment?"

He wished his voice didn't shake so much. How was he suppose to go up against the hoards of the undead when he couldn't handle this situation?

"Oh, yes, Martin," Carolyn said in acknowledgement. She shooed Douglas away. "Go, I don't need you for this."

"What about my shuriken replacement?"

"Yes, yes, fine. I'll pay for more shuriken."

Douglas made a small noise of accomplishment. As he turned to leave, he whispered towards Martin's direction, "Don't make eye contact or you'll turn into stone."

Martin thought he would be alone with Mrs. Knapp-Shappey, but Arthur pulled up a seat and sat down. Was he to watch this too?

"Mr. Crieff," Carolyn said as she took her spot behind her desk. She didn't bother to take off her jacket and Martin could still see the gun hidden against her body. "So you want to join my team."

Martin nodded. "I do. My instructor told me you're willing to take me on."

"Don't be too eager to begin. Just because I agreed to see you doesn't mean I agreed to have you. I've been going over your papers and I see you scored a hundred on your shooting."

"Yes," Martin said proudly, puffing up his chest.

"I also see you only scored a fourteen on your survival."

His chest and his ego deflated. "Yes..."

"Then tell me why I should I bring you on my team when it sounds like you're liable to get us all eaten?"

Martin knew he would eventually get this question but didn't think it would come so soon. Or so bluntly. He had an answer ready, except it refused to come out. "Well, I-um, I-I-I-I... I can... ummm..."

"I got a ten in survival," Arthur said suddenly. "I've been doing SR since I was fourteen. Scores really don't reflect your ability."

Martin blinked at him. He barely knew Arthur for ten minutes and yet he unknowingly gave Martin the small amount of confidence needed to push through his anxiety. Taking a breath, Martin finally said, "I can hit a moving target from a hundred feet away and reload a new clip in two seconds. I may be loud but I am fast and I am accurate. Most hoards, from what I heard, only range in the twenties. I have more than enough rounds to keep such a crowd from gathering around us."

It sounded very impressive. It certainly made Arthur dance in his seat in glee.

Carolyn barely batted an eye. "Humph," she grunted. "I don't know who you've been talking to, but hoards do not come in 'sets of twenties'. Sometimes they come in the fifties or in the hundreds. Do you carry enough ammo to take on a hoard of hundreds? Anyone can boast about taking down one or two ghouls, but taking on an actual hoard is a lot different. Do you think you can handle that?"

Martin has never actually seen a hoard. He has never left the sanctuary of Fitton and has only gone up against the undead in a controlled environment. Mrs. Knapp-Shappey asked a legitimate question.

He decided to answer truthfully. "I-I am not sure..."

Carolyn considered this. She turned her head to Arthur, her eyebrows raising in silent question.

Arthur gave her a thumbs-up.

She sighed and turned back to Martin. "We'll give you a trial run.

 

 

 

SR stood for  _Search and Rescue_. Over the years the 'rescue' part should have been taken off as the chances of actually rescuing someone from a hot zone was next to zero. Nowadays SR acted more like archeologists, going into zones and bringing back equipment and items not normally found. Last year one team brought back a whole shipment of tools, making life in their sanctuary much much easier.

Other SR teams were designated to clear a zone in order to help their sanctuary to expand. Though it was slow tiring dangerous work, it was worth it.

People thought Martin only wanted to be on a SR team because of the glory and riches it came with. While Martin could say fame and fortune was a bonus, his real reason to be on SR was a bit more superficial.

Martin breathed in awe. "Oh, look at that..."

Douglas gave him a sideways look then glanced back at GERTI. "It's only a helicopter."

Helicopters were the only flying machine agile enough to fly into a hot zone and get out with no problem. Martin has always wanted to ride in one but only SR teams were allowed to use them. "I've never ridden in one before," Martin admitted. "I've seen them fly. I think they're incredible."

Douglas, whose excitement over flying probably has long since dwindled, shrugged. "Other helicopters are incredible. GERTI is too much of a death trap, personally."

Martin blinked. "What?"

"You'll see."

Douglas climbed into GERTI, shifting his machete so it wouldn't be pinching against his leg when he sat. Arthur climbed in next to him, happily clinging onto his bow.

Martin stepped forward, his stomach doing happy somersaults in anticipation. He touched the right side of his thigh, feeling the shape and texture of his gun and climbed into the helicopter.

He had to fight down a hysterical giggle of glee.

Carolyn appeared a moment later, walking up to GERTI while she strapped on her leather gloves. "Okay, my little minions," she said as she climbed into the pilot's seat. "We're hitting the West zone. It's a yellow zone so I expect all you morons to come back. If not, then sucks to be you."

Martin's jaw dropped at her insensitivity.

"Today's objective," Carolyn continued while she started flipping switches. "Needles. We're hitting a local clinic today and getting as many clean needles as we can. You have three hours. Understand?"

"Yes," said Douglas.

"Yes, mum," said Arthur.

"Uhhhhhh..." said Martin. "Wait, can you-"

"Good," said Carolyn, gripping the controls. "Let's fly."

Any protest Martin may have had died at the sound of the propelers starting up. He didn't bother fighting down an excited grin as he glanced upwards to the ceiling, his ears perking to the unique noises of the helicopter. Arthur was the only one who shared his sentiment by throwing his hands in the air and squealing, "Whee!"

Douglas had fallen asleep.

The helicopter shuddered and jerked lightly to the right as it took off from the ground. Slowly but surely, the machine rose higher and higher, leaving the earth far below.

"Martin!" Arthur yelled over the noise. He was grabbing onto a leather strap near the open door, gesturing Martin to get closer. "Come, look!"

Martin didn't need to be told twice. He moved closer, grabbed hold of another strap and leaned over.

They were moving so fast! Already they reached the edges of their sanctuary and entered the outside wooded world. Martin very rarely was given a chance to explore these woods and was glad to see them from high above.

A few times he thought he saw something moving down below but they were flying too to tell.

For the next half hour, the forest soon gave way to streets and motor ways. Old rusted cars choked the scene and a few times Martin saw white skeletons sticking out of broken windows.

Suddenly his good mood was gone.

Carolyn followed the streets straight into town. Without human life to maintain it, grass and overgrown bushes were rampant. Some of the buildings had collasped and the deeper they flew in, more and more moving individuals shambled on the ground.

Carolyn had to fly a couple of circles to find a suitable place to touch down. The nearest and best spot was in a half-empty car park outside of an old school. "Remember," Carolyn said as the three hopped out of the helicopter. "Three hours. Be here or else I'm taking off."

Martin was surprised to see the propelers slow. "You're just going to sit here and wait for us?"

Carolyn threw him an unimpressed look. She pulled open her coat and showed off her gun.

"O-oh..."

"Don't worry, Martin," Arthur said, clapping his back. "Mum can take of herself. Besides, if something goes wrong, she can always take off in Gerti!"

Martin supposed he was right. They were the experienced SR.

He let Arthur guide him away from the helicopter and silently followed Douglas into the streets. Now that the constant sound of propellers was gone, the world around him seemed eerily silent.

 

 

 

 

They walked in order Douglas in the front while Arthur and Martin covered his back. Martin had his gun out, his finger hovering over the trigger, ready for anything to pop out at them.

"You don't need to be so paranoid," Douglas said easily. He didn't yell but in this strange quiet, empty environment his voice carried as if he shouted. "They're not very fast. As long as we avoid sharp corners, they're not going to get the jump on us."

"I'm just being sure," Martin said. Douglas had his machete out on the ready, though he let it hang off his wrist. Arthur too held his bow in his hand instead around his shoulders, his fingers empty of an arrow. "I was told to always expect the unexpected."

"I hate that phrase. I can expect a lot of things."

"Me too!" Said Arthur. "Like what if there was an escape monkey from the zoo? What do we do then? Can we bring it back? What if it was an undead monkey? Can monkeys be undead? I mean, human beings were decended from monkeys, so I suppose it's quite possible they could come back-"

"Yes, thank you Arthur," Douglas cut him off. "We get the idea. Now how about we play the quiet game?"

"Awww, we always play that game!"

When Martin refused to relax, Douglas huffed. "Martin, you're going to cramp your shoulders and your hands holding the gun constantly like that. Relax."

Martin bit his lip. Douglas was right, Martin seriously doubted he could keep up with this position for the next three hours. Just as he began to pull back and relax, he saw something move and brought up his gun immediately. "There, look!"

Douglas and Arthur turned around. From a hundred feet away, a ghoul limped towards them, his arms out, mouth gaped opened. His intestines were hanging out of him, swaying back and forth as he shambled forward.

Martin took aim.

"What are you doing?" Douglas hissed, pushing the gun down.

"I'm going to shoot it!"

"Think about that for a moment. What do you think will happen when the sound of a  _gun shot_  echoes out here?"

Martin gaped at him. Immediately his mind was filled with images of hundreds of ghouls, just like what Carolyn said at their interview. Hundreds of the undead, all moaning and scrabbling for their flesh.

He gulped.

Douglas nodded. "Now you see. Arthur, take it out."

"Right-o," Arthur said. He pulled out an arrow, notched it, took aim and fired.

The arrow made a sharp whistling noise as it cut through the air and finally a satisfying THWACK as it entered through the eye socket of the ghoul. It fell and didn't get back up.

They waited for a second, wondering if another might come around the corner. When none came, Arthur lowered his bow and trotted to the corpse to retrieve his arrow. Martin grimaced as Arthur positioned his foot on the forehead and yanked out his arrow.

"Well," Douglas said satisfied. "Let's keep going, shall we?"

 

 

 

 

They don't kill every ghoul they came across. They avoided them the best they could or hid from them if they were noticed. It was best not to lose ammunition on unnecessary kills.

Though Martin felt a tiny bit humiliated of being put into his place, he was glad for the experience. He kept his mouth shut as best as he could, taking cues from Arthur and Douglas when needed.

One precaution he took was constant vigilance of behind them. He was told, numerous times, that sometimes a ghoul will notice you without your knowing. They've been known to follow an individual for miles, eventually catching up to their tired, sleepy form and eating them in their sleep. Always watch your back, Mr. Duncan always said.

"There's the clinic," Douglas said, pointing. "C'mon, let's get our needles."

For five very tense minutes, Douglas and Arthur kept watch while Martin tried to open the front door without creating too much noise. Once he jimmied the lock, he and the others cautiously went in.

Inside was dark. The only light source was the sun streaming through the thin fabric curtains and it barely illuminated the front. The clinic was relatively clean except for the dust. None of the passing yearly wind and rain had managed to get inside, leaving the clinic as pristine as the day the humans left it.

"Knives out," Douglas said, pulling a hunting knife out of his boot. "Spread out. Look for those needles."

He paused. "Martin, go with Arthur."

"What, why?"

"You shouldn't be alone on your first day."

Martin puffed out his cheeks in irritation and he thought about protesting. He kept it in check, not wishing to start trouble. Mr. Duncan always told him to keep annoyances among the group to a minimum. You don't want to place your safety in people who hate your guts.

"Don't worry, Martin," Arthur said as he placed away his bow and pulled out his own knife. "I'll keep an eye on you!"

He dropped his knife.

"Oh! Heh... whoopsies!"

Biting the inside of his cheek, Martin followed Arthur (once he got a better hold on his knife) in silence as they quietly went down the corridor towards the examining rooms. Every door was closed.

Arthur got to the first door. He pressed his ear against the wood and knocked.

Martin whispered feverishly, _"What are you doing?"_

" _Hearing for movement_ ," Arthur whispered back. " _If something's in there, I want to know what_."

Martin supposed that was a good idea, but wouldn't it be better to get the drop on whatever's on the other side?

After a second or two, Arthur pulled back. "You can search in that one."

"By myself?"

"Sure. Nothing is in there. And if something should happen, just call for me. I can handle anything."

He dropped his knife again.

Martin had lived through hand-to-hand combat sessions a million times. He practiced the moves thousands of times and knew exactly the best way to dispatch a ghoul in a small space. He knew training never compared to experience, he just wished he could calm down enough without feeling like he was about to have a panic attack.

His hand was shaking.

"Calm down, Martin," he said to himself. "You still have your gun. It's okay, just open the door..."

He flung the door open, jumped back and held the knife out in front of him. When nothing popped out, he cautiously inched his way inside.

The small examining room was nearly pitch black, forcing Martin to pull out his torch. He flashed the light around, before taking a step into the room. He took note of the examining bed, the closed cabinet doors, and the weight machine in the corner. When he flashed the light on the floor, that's when he saw the blood.

Martin hissed and jumped back, cursing himself. Didn't Mr. Duncan  _warn_  him about checking the floors first? Always check the floors, he said, you don't know if a legless ghoul was crawling towards you at that moment.

Martin waited, his knife at the ready, waiting for said ghoul to come towards him.

He relaxed a bit when nothing happened and cautiously reentered the room, slowly going to the source of the blood. He came around the examining table and hunched on the floor, curled into a small ball was a man.

It was obvious this man had been dead for years. Trapped inside this room, with very little air circulation or flies, his corpse was practically mummified. Not a ghoul, Martin determined after he kicked the corpse' shoe and getting no response. There was a huge gash across the man's wrist. In his front pocket, there was a whithered old piece of paper and the words  _To My Family_  in cursive still could be seen.

It was obvious what had happened here.

Martin was told he was going to come across scenes like this. Some were going to be more tragic than others, some were so disgusting even the most hardened SR would break down and cry at the sight. The point was, Martin couldn't let a simple scene like this get to him.

It didn't. Martin didn't know who this man was, didn't know his past and he certainly had no intention in reading the letter in his pocket. It was hard to feel sorrow for a long dead stranger. But it did made him pause and wonder briefly what the man's name was.

Martin stood back up and backed away, focusing the task on hand.

 

 

 

 

In less than ten minutes, Arthur's bag was filled with needles and small (expired) bottles of medicine. "This is brilliant!" Arthur said happily, jiggling the bag. "This is the first clinic we've been to that hasn't been raided beforehand!"

Douglas agreed. "Yes. I suppose durng the Great Panic, many went to the large hospitals rather than the family-run clinics. Bad for them, great for us. Okay, Martin, let's go home. You take front point."

"Right."

It was a stupid mistake. Martin should have known better and this was something he was told on day one: don't let your guard down. Martin supposed after spending a half hour inside the clinic with no fear of the undead around every corner, he relaxed and got a little too comfortable with his environment. Which was why when he opened the front door, he didn't expect a rotting dead ghoul to crash right into him.

Martin gave out a cry, instinctively shoving out an arm across the ghoul's shoulder, keeping it at a distance. Both of them fell to the ground, Martin slamming onto his back with the ghoul on top.

The corpse was wildly snapping his teeth at Martin, desperate to get closer. The thing only had one arm and it was gripping Martin's front shirt, refusing to be pushed away.

Martin shifted his arm, slipped his hand up around the ghoul's neck and forced the head up. He gripped his knife tightly, shoved upwards and stucked it full hilt right underneath the jaw.

The ghoul gave out a gutteral growling noise as black blood dribbled down Martin's knife. The ghoul went limp, dead for good this time, and with a grunt, Martin heaved the corpse off him.

Douglas gave a slow clap. "Impressive. Very nice."

Heat rose up in Martin's face. He squealed. "What, were you lot just going stand there and watch me get  _eaten_?"

"Oh, don't be so overdramatic." Douglas flashed a shuriken in between his fingers. "If I saw that corpse getting a bit too close, I would have taken him out. Take this as a lesson: next time you plan to go out a door, remember to check for the undead on the other side."

Martin felt humiliated. He knew that. Of course he fucking knew that. He was still shaking from adrenaline and watched in fuming silence as Douglas stuck his head out the clinic door, casually glanced around.

"Coast is clear," he announced. He kicked the corpse's foot. "Drag this back outside. No sense in letting this rot in here."

 

 

 

 

After they dragged the corpse back outside, Douglas closed the door to the clinic, making an effort to lock it.

During the entire walk back to GERTI Martin felt like a tool. He knew actual experience was different from training and he knew he was going to get things wrong, but there were so many times he could have gotten them all killed. His misuse of gunfire, not checking the floors for a legless ghoul, or even bothering to peek outside to make sure a hoard wasn't standing there, waiting for them.

Martin wouldn't be surprised if Carolyn dropped him from the SR entirely.

Half an hour later, they came upon the landing area with GERTI.

There seven motionless bodies laying on the asphalt. Each one had a gunshot wound in their heads.

Carolyn sat in Gerti, idly playing with her nails, looking bored. When she heard them come near, her hand automatically reached for her gun. "It's about time you came back," she snapped at them, her arm relaxing. "Took your time!"

"Sorry, mum," Arthur said, pecking her on the cheek. "But look! We got every needle from the clinic!"

"That's wonderful, Arthur." Carolyn glanced over to Martin. "Still alive, I see."

"Um, yes?"

She huffed. "Well, I guess you're now part of my team. C'mon, let's go home."

Martin gaped. "Wait, what? You want me to stay on? Just like that?"

Douglas clapped a hand on Martin's shoulders. "Martin, what's the first rule of SR?"

"Um." His mind was whirring, trying to think of the thousand of little details he learned and couldn't bring up a specific one that he would consider 'the first rule.' "Um..."

" _Stay alive_ ," Douglas said. "You can't help if you're undead. Speaking of which, do you mind taking care of that?"

He pointed out to the pile of abadoned rusted cars. Emerging from the between the gaps was a woman, face half-gone, her ribs showing, limping towards them with bloody lips pulled back in a growl. Martin heard Carolyn climb into the pilot seat and turned on the propellers. From above him, the wind picked up as the blades gained speed.

Martin pulled out his gun. Took aim.

The noise of the propellers were too loud to hear the gunshot. It didn't matter. Martin saw the back of the woman's head explode outward like rotten watermelon and she fell beside the other corpses.

Martin holstered his gun and climbed into GERTI.


End file.
